


Cold Ash

by iihappydaysii



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Sexuality, Slow Burn, not from dnp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/pseuds/iihappydaysii
Summary: A year after his wife’s death from tuberculosis, a brokenhearted Dan moves from London with his three young daughters to a cottage in the countryside. There, he meets the eccentric and enigmatic Phil Lester who makes him feel things he thought he’d never feel again, and certainly not for a man.





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be structured around the seasons and i'll post a new part with each season irl starting and ending with spring

_Spring_

 

For the first time that year, the usual morning frost had turned to morning dew. It seemed fitting, Dan thought, for his last day in London, as if the whole city was celebrating his departure. 

G _ood riddance, Mr. Howell. Take you and your broken heart with you. We could use a little sunshine around here._

“We’re going to miss you, sir,” a feminine voice came from behind him. He turned to see Mrs. Jennings, short, pinked cheeked Mrs. Jennings in her maid’s smock giving him a sad smile from the doorway.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ anymore, since you’re no longer under my employ.”

“I’ve a few more hours, don’t I? Till I see you off? Then, I’ll write you a letter giving you a piece of my mind.”

Dan gave her a half-hearted laugh. All he had left was half-hearted everything. “I expect nothing less.” He sighed. “I really am sorry I can’t afford to take you with me. The girls will miss you something awful… as will I."

The money had been Anna’s. Now that Anna was gone so was the money. It was the only way Anna’s father would have supported her marrying ‘so far below her station’, as he had put it. Dan had never wanted Anna for her money, so he didn’t think any thing of signing the papers at the time. It was a means to an end.

Dan took solace in knowing that the girls would be taken care of—well, once they turned eighteen—and it wasn’t like Dan didn’t have enough money of his own to keep them fed and clothed. He could take care of his own children, thank you very much. But the expensive home in socially elite London, the maids, the nannies, the cooks, those were a thing of the past. 

Dan stacked the last of their belongings by the iron front gate—three little suitcases beside two larger ones. They weren’t taking much with them. The home Dan had purchased in the country came furnished, so they didn’t need much but their clothes and items of personal significance. He’d sold off what furnishings in the house had belonged to him and not his father-in-law, leaving him with a respectable fund for new clothes and bedding and the like for the girls. He assumed the fashion sensibilities of the country would be different than those of the city.

“I’ll gather up the girls, sir,” Mrs. Jennings said.

“Thank you,” he replied.

She walked back inside, her skirts swishing, then returned a few moments later, with Dan’s three daughters. Clara and Mae were huddled around Mrs. Jennings knees and Alice was stood at Miss Jennings’ side looking resolute and serious as always. 

Dan put on a smile, as he’d forced himself to do so often. He tried to be good at putting on a brave face for the girls, regardless of the terrified tangle of grey that was truly twisting under the surface. He had lost his wife, but they… they had lost their mother.

Mrs. Jennings hugged the girls and mopped at her eyes. The twins were clinging onto her skirts. They’d lost so much recently. He hated that they had to lose her too. 

“Now, little ladies, listen up. You take care of your father.” She patted Mae’s dark curls and gave her a cheeky grin. “He can use all the help he can get.” She directed her attention to Alice. “You better write to me, dear. Keep me abreast on everything.”

Alice nodded. “Of course. Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, alright.” Mrs. Jennings sniffed as she straightened her back. “You have adventures to be getting off to. Go on, now.”

The girls slowly moved away from the woman who’d helped raise them and off the steps toward their luggage near the gate. Dan took a moment to walk back to Mrs. Jennings. For everything she’d done, she deserved a proper goodbye. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking off his hat. “For everything you’ve done for the girls. And everything you’ve done for Anna. When she was sick…” Dan felt his throat tighten, felt himself choke up.

“No need to thank me,” Mrs. Jennings said. “Anna was an exceptional woman, and I’m sure neither one of us will see the likes of her again, but… may I speak frankly, sir?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“You have three little girls and you deserve…” She shook her head. “Don’t close off your heart completely. You never what else is out there waiting for you.”

“Mrs. Jennings…”

“Life is long, Mr. Howell. Even when it’s much too short. That’s all I’m saying.”

He simply gave her a nod and placed his hat back on his head. He walked down the steps to the kids. Clara and Mae had both scooped their large suitcases into their hands, Alice was carrying hers and Dan picked up the other two.

“Come on,” Dan said. “The train’s not too far a walk from here.”

 

 

The train ride to Cold Ash was long. Dan had taken it before, but the ride felt even longer today, further from London, and the four of them were all cramped into the same little section of one of the smallest cars. The ride was bumpy, and the twins had a penchant for getting motion sick. They stayed green in the face, until they both fortunately fell asleep, tucked under Dan’s arms, one on either side of him. Alice was nearly pressed to the train car window, her face cutting out a section of the rolling hills as they passed. Her father’s nose. Her mother’s chin. She had Anns’s copy of _The Tale of Two Cities_ open in her lap, but she was flipping through it far too fast, Dan thought, for her to actually be reading it.

The train chugged to a stop at the station in Thatcham, which was the one nearest their new town of Cold Ash. They loaded off to pick up their suitcases again. Dan had written a letter in advance of their arrival and a man was waiting for them with a horse and carriage to take them rest of the way. He had a big smile that was missing a few teeth and he let the girls feed the horses a few of the purple carrots he’d kept with him in a small wicker basket.

They all climbed into the carriage, keeping their suitcases tucked in close. The driver snapped the reigns and they were off down the dirt road that wound into the woods, past Thatcham to Cold Ash. 

Dan was able to catch a glimpse of a collection of the red brick buildings Cold Ash’s village center. It was barely more than a single street of shops and they were still miles from the stone cottage they would now call their home.  

As they traveled through the trees, all Dan could think of was what this region would look like at night. He’d carried with him a fear of dark woods since childhood. It defied logic—his brother had said—moving to a place like this. But the decision had been in part out of necessity and in part out of the growing numbness he carried with him. Besides, he’d seen much more terrible things than rows on rows of dark trees.

He shut his eyes to push back the image that had floated to the forefront of his mind—his wife, barely anything but skin and bones in their bed, the pile of blood soaked handkerchiefs that seemed to grow and grow endlessly.  

The carriage jerked to a stop and the driver opened the door for them. Alice climbed down and helped Clara and Mae out. Dan followed behind, thanking the driver. He stepped down on the patch of dirt and sat his hat back on his head. He looked straight ahead at the quaint little cottage. It almost looked like something out of a fairytale—not the castle at the end but the hideaway in the middle. It was grey and mossy, deep green vines working up the chimney and a dark oak front door. He’d been here before, of course, but it looked different now when he had a name to call it by: _home._

It didn’t feel right. Dan didn’t think any place without Anna should be called home. It didn’t feel like home when there weren’t open books and empty teacups laid out around the house. It didn’t feel like home when he couldn’t smell her perfume, when she wasn’t there to tell him about some obscure academic paper she’d managed to acquire. It didn’t feel like home when she wasn’t sat with the girls in front of the hearth, telling them stories or reciting famous quotes and speeches.

Anna had always been too clever, too persistent, too unusual, in a world that valued none of those things in women. Dan valued those things though. He had always tried to value them enough to make up for the rest of the world. But, still, in the end, it had just felt like she had always been too much for this world, like it had tried to contain her and couldn’t manage it.

“Father,” Alice spoke gently, bringing Dan from his thoughts. “Should we go inside?”

He nodded as he heard the rumbling sound the carriage driving off. “Yes, you’re right. Let’s go on in.”

Dan used the key he’d been given and had kept tucked in waistcoat to open the front door. The twins rushed in first, pushing around his legs, and he shared a look with Alice before they stepped inside. Though the cottage wasn’t much like their home in London, Dan thought it was nice. There was a big stone hearth and wood floors layered with hand sewn rugs. There was leather seating stacked with old sheepskins, and hand-dipped candles hung on brass hooks on the walls. The last occupants had even left behind an old player piano. 

The kitchen was small with a wood-burning stove, a big wooden table and a pump-faucet for water. The air smelled thickly of lavender and sage. Bundles of those dried herbs had been left strung across the kitchen. 

There were just two bedrooms—one for Alice, Mae and Clara and one for himself. Dan had taken the slightly smaller one to give room for the three girls. The girls room had two small beds—the twins could share for now—and Dan’s had a slightly larger bed and an old armoire in his. He found Clara and Mae holding hands and jumping on their bed. They were giggling, and they didn’t giggle as much nowadays, but a year was a very long time when you hadn’t yet turned three, so for them it seemed, things had mostly returned to normal. 

Clara and Mae would never remember their mother, not really. That was one of the hardest things to live with.

With Alice’s help, Dan set food out on the table in the kitchen. He’d wrapped some loaves of bread, apples and cheese in linen napkins before they’d left the house—and they’d had some to eat on the train. Tomorrow they’d walk into town. It was only about a half mile, and they’d be able to pick up some food at the shops. Eventually, Dan wanted to build a garden and plant more trees, though he knew they already had a few good apple and apricot trees on the property. He was also hoping to build a coop for some chickens. There was a lot to do, but maybe keeping his hands and head busy might soften the ache in his heart. 

After he and the girls had eaten, the sun set, and Dan checked to make sure the front door was locked. The living area was illuminated by the fire Dan had made, and by an array of oil lamps. Dan played around on the piano while Clara and Mae sat on the rugs by the hearth, playing with their baby dolls. Alice was writing in the leather bound journal Anna had bought her two Christmases ago. Dan could tell she had nearly filled it.

Dan grabbed the pewter handle of one of the oil lamps and led the girls to their bedroom. They all changed into their nightclothes and, after brushing their hair and a bit of washing up, they slipped underneath the patchwork quilts on their beds. 

He walked over and kissed them each on the foreheads. 

“Good night, my little bees,” he whispered softly. His girls buzzed back at him, like they always did.

Dan extinguished the oil lamp and walked out of the room.

Dan had called his girls ‘little bees’ for a while now, ever since he noticed the ubiquitousness of their chatter and movements created an ever present hum, a _buzz,_ a throughout the house. It was a little ritual, a little something that was always just between the four of them, that Dan had managed to cling onto after Anna had passed. So much else had been lost.

Back in his own room, Dan undressed and pulled on his nightshirt before slipping under the covers. It was strange to be lying here, in this place that belonged to him, but wasn’t the place he’d grown his family, wasn’t the home he’d shared with the woman he loved. 

He missed her. God, how he missed her. It had been a year, and the ache was different now than it had been when she first passed. It was settled down lower now, a heavy anchor, rather than a fresh, acute injury. 

He wondered what Anna would think of this place. He wasn’t sure if she’d find it dull—with the stacks of London’s libraries out of reach—or if she’d find it all a big adventure, like Mrs. Jennings had said. Dan hated not knowing what she’d think. Hated that he couldn’t ask, that it was just this permanent blank.

Years ago, Anna had come along and filled so many blanks in Dan’s life. She’d been the answer to so many of the questions he’d had about himself—so many of the worries. She’d come along and been bright and beautiful with her long brown hair and deep brown eyes. She was a little bony, taller than most women—the perfect height for him—and she was impossible to forget with her tortoiseshell reading glasses and the ever-present black pencil tucked behind her ear. 

He’d met her in his university’s libraries, but she hadn’t been looking for something to read. His university had a women’s school so she could’ve been, but she wasn’t. She had an arm full of books and had been filling the shelves with restricted materials, a mix of racy stories and new ideas considered dangerous by the people who made what Anna had called ‘society’s illogical rules’. That was just Anna. It hadn’t been a fluke in her behavior—she was always getting up to something or other, and it wasn’t long before Dan had found himself drawn into her web of secret, intellectual rebellion. 

When she first kissed him— _she_ kissed _him_ —he’d been absolutely stunned, on one hand, and on the other, it made perfect sense. This was Anna. She was always full of surprises. The first time they’d had sex surprised him too. It wasn’t his first time, nor was it was hers. He was a good looking man, and women had always liked him and he’d always liked women. Dan had had an awful lot of trouble with men, but women were fine. And he’d had sex with them, and it had felt good, just like he thought it would. But, he just hadn’t realized that the difference would be so profound. Sex with someone you truly loved was like another act entirely.

He missed it, and sometimes he felt guilty about how much, but it wasn’t about the sex. He could find sex, he could even pay for sex if he wanted. It was about Anna. It was about stripping her back, about being open to each other, about being inside her, about watching the rise and fall of her breasts, about feeling them under his mouth and his hands. It was about the connection, the closeness. Sex with Anna had always been like a wordless conversation between their bodies, a conversation he would never get to finish. There was so much, too much, that had been left unfinished when it came to Anna.

Despite grappling with old memories, Dan was exhausted and drifted to sleep. He was awoken by a shout, and by the sound of his bedroom door being flung open.

He shot up in bed.

“W-what’s going on?” he stuttered.

“It’s Clara!” Alice shouted, sounding panicked, an oil lamp shaking in her hand. “I can’t find her.”

Dan threw his feet onto the floor. “What do you mean you can’t find her?” his voice cracked.

“I just woke up and looked over and she was gone.”

Dan’s heart slammed in his chest.

“I’m so sorry.” Alice started to cry. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been watching her.” She suddenly sounded so much younger than she normally did.

“It’s not your fault. If it’s anyone, it’s mine. We’ll find her,” Dan said, throwing on a pair of trousers. “We have to.”

With oil lamp in hand, Dan made his way through the darkened cottage to the front door. He grabbed the large lantern sat nearby and lit it.

Alice was standing behind, still crying, chewing on her thumbnail.

“I’ve got to go look for her. You stay here with Mae. No matter what stay here until I come back.

“O-okay,” Alice managed, then stood up straighter and cleared her throat, that solemness covering her features again. “Yes, of course.”

Dan turned and darted into the night.

It was pitch black—so black he wasn’t sure his eyes would adjust, even with the lantern held out in front of him. He ran around to outhouse behind the cottage—maybe she’d gone out to use it, though it didn’t make much sense. Clara wasn’t even three years old. She was afraid of the dark. He called out for her but he didn’t hear a response. He threw open the door to the outhouse, holding his lantern out in front of them. She wasn’t there.

Dan cursed under his breath, then turned to look toward the trees, shouting her name again. 

Why would she walk out of the house? Unless…. unless she sleepwalking again. Clara had done it a few times after Anna passed. The doctors said it was stress, her body’s way of processing the grief and loss she was too young to fully understand. But it had been months since she had, Dan hadn’t even considered the possibility…

He shouted her name again, panic tearing through him. This _wasn’t_ happening. It _couldn’t_ be happening. But it was. Dan had no choice but to rush into the dark trees.

“Clara,” his voice was getting hoarse now that he’d been shouting for so long. “Clara! Clara!”

Fear was all around him but the adrenaline and the concern for his daughter kept his own fear at bay. Dan wasn’t even sure how long he was out there in those woods, but he was shivering and his legs had started to ache. He’d done his best to make sure he remembered which way he’d walked, but as he headed back toward the house he was worried, in his panic, he hadn’t remembered.

Still, he hadn’t found Clara, but maybe she’d found her way back to the house. He’d check before heading back out again. 

When Dan saw the cottage, his heart dropped. There was a figure standing by the door—a shadowy tall man. He jumped into action, rushing forward, lantern swinging.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dan shouted. “What are you doing on my property?”

Anger and fear had taken over and Dan dropped the lantern, then slammed the man hard against the wall, his hands gripped into the other man’s shirt.

“What the fuck are you doing here? If you touched my daughters I swear to God.”

“Please,” the man said. His was voice was small, gentle. “Please, listen. Your little girl—”

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

He was blinking, looking stunned, staring straight at Dan. “Brought her home.”

Dan relaxed his grip a little. “Clara? She’s here.” 

“Yes, in the house. With your older daughter. I was waiting for you… I didn’t want to leave them alone.”

Dan still wasn’t sure of this man. He could be lying. It was strange that he’d been wandering in the woods at night, so close to Dan’s house.

“Alice!” Dan shouted. “Alice, are you there?”

A few moments later, the front door opened. Alice gasped, holding Clara— _oh Clara, thank God, Clara—_ on her hip. 

“Father, what are you doing? Let him go. He brought Clara back.”

Finally, Dan’s hands dropped away from the man and he stepped away. He heard Alice and Clara go back inside.

“My name’s Philip Lester, Phil. I have a small home not far from here,” the man said. “I heard her outside, and I figured she must have come from here. There’s no where else between here and the town.”

Dan nodded, his heart rate finally slowing. “Oh, oh. Thank you.” For the first time, Dan lifted his gaze and really looked at the other man, who’d said his name was Phil. The lantern Dan had dropped was angled to shine up at him, almost like a beacon.

Phil had narrow features, a strong jaw and the thin beginnings of a beard. He had dark rimmed glasses and ginger hair, with light streaks of grey. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt and leather braces to hold up his trousers. His pale skin was a little ghostly in this light, spritely maybe, like he’d been plucked out of one of Shakespeare’s comedies. 

“It’s no problem,” Phil said. “Just happy I could help and everyone’s alright.”

Dan let out a shaky breath, his eyes shutting. He steadied himself, then said, “It’s late… you’re welcome to come in an wait out of the dark. It’s not as if I’ll be getting any sleep the rest of the night.”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. It’s the least I could do. My name is Daniel Howell, by the way. Dan is fine.”

Phil gave him a small smile. “I could use a cup of tea.”

“I don’t have much yet. Just moved in today, but I can do tea.” Dan picked up the lantern and opened the front door. “Please. Come on in.”

Phil stepped past him, and Dan walked in behind him, shutting the door. Maybe it was a little strange to be inviting this stranger in, but it was neighborly thing to do, and this man had done him an enormous favor for which he was extremely grateful.

“I think all I have is some of my wife’s breakfast tea,” Dan said, opening the cupboard where he’d placed the remaining food they’d brought with them. He pulled out a small tin canister.

“When will your wife be arriving?” Phil asked. “Your eldest said they were here alone.”

Dan tensed as tossed some dry wood into the belly of the wood stove. “She… she passed actually. Last year.”

“Oh I’m… I’m terribly sorry.” Phil let out a breath. “That must be… I can imagine how difficult that must be. For your children and for you.” 

Dan usually hated listening to people pity him or people try to cheer him up. They always sounded insincere, but Dan waited for that feeling of annoyance to arrive and it didn’t. These words sounded different. Even if maybe they weren’t all that different, somehow, when this stranger said them, they simply sounded kind. 

“It is. It’s harder than I expected and I expected it to be by the far hardest thing I’d ever been through.” Dan opened the tea tin. “I don’t know how you like your tea, but I don’t have any cream and I’m not sure there’s any sugar in here. We’ll have to go into town tomorrow.”

“It’s more than fine plain,” Phil said. 

Dan pumped the sink faucet to bring in some water and filled up the copper tea kettle he’d found in the cabinets. He put the dried tea leaves into the kettle, then sat it on the burner.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Dan sat down at one of the wooden chairs around the table and let out a breath. “Sit with me, Phil. Please.”

Phil looked at him, for a moment, head tilted, then sat down across from him. “You’ve had a long day.” It wasn’t a question. It was more of an understanding.

“I’ve had so many long days recently. I wonder sometimes if they’ll ever shorten again.”

“I think you’ll find them shorter here. Shorter and yet slower.”

Dan nodded. “Do you like it? Living here?”

“Yes, it’s easier for me. There were things about the city I liked, but too much I didn’t as well.”

“London?”

Phil shook his head. “Manchester.”

“When did you move here?” 

“It’s been almost ten years now. When my uncle Edward passed, he left his cabin in Cold Ash to me. It’s nothing impressive but I like the quiet. I learned to farm and raise chickens. I have a wonderful dairy cow, and the solitude gives me plenty of time to read.”

“What do you like to read?”

“Lots of things. I’ve a particular interest in the American writer Edgar Allen Poe. Bram Stoker is of interest to me as well.”

“You like to scare yourself when you read?”

“Yes, and I’m not entirely sure why either. I think maybe it makes reality seem less frightening by comparison.” Phil let out a soft breath. “Do you like to read?”

“I do. I’m partial to adventure stories. Robert Louis Stevenson, Jonathan Swift, Mark Twain. I read a lot of law books as well, but not for pleasure.”

The tea kettle whistled and Dan stood to pull it off the heat. He poured them each a cup and handed the cup to Phil. Phil’s fingers brushed over his as they did—cool and rough—and, for a moment, Dan felt numb in the place they had touched.

Phil picked up the cup and pressed it to his lips. He took a sip just after Dan did, and set his cup back down on the wood tabletop. 

“That tea is… well it’s very good.”

“It is, isn’t?” Dan stared down at the brown liquid in the cup. “Anna used to go far out of the way to pick it up herself. She loved that little tea shop.”

“Anna was your wife?” Phil asked.

Dan nodded. “She was much more than that.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know.  I’m sorry. It’s only that… I always hated watching her be reduced. Be defined by our relationship. She was more than me in every way. I’ve never gotten along with her father—he hadn’t approved of our marriage—but I always respected him for one thing—for seeing her the way that I did.”

“You really loved her, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Dan said simply. “I do.”

“It’s rare, isn’t it? Love in marriage?”

Dan took another sip of tea. “I guess that it is. Have you ever been married?”

Phil shook his head. “I was engaged once.”

“Is it impolite to ask what happened?”

Phil ran his thumb over the rim of his tea cup. “It was… a match my parents wanted. She was a sweet girl, but I… I was in love with someone else, and it didn’t feel fair. Even if I couldn’t be with… it was a long time ago.”

“Before you moved to Cold Ash.”

“Yes.”

Maybe it was a leap, but the way Phil said ‘yes’ felt weighted. Made Dan think that it wasn’t just something that happened before Phil moved to Cold Ash, but maybe the reason he had come here at all. Dan wondered if everyone who lived here had a reason.

“You were lucky,” Phil said. “To be able to marry the person you loved.”

“I know.”

“Too many people can’t.”

Dan gave Phil a soft smile. “I know.”

He did. It was almost the case with he and Anna. Had she been anyone else, she wouldn’t have pressed back against her family’s pressure the way that she has, and wouldn’t have been able to sway them at least functionally to her side. The only concession she’d given her father was that Dan would receive none of her inheritance in the event of her death. She managed the rest of what she wanted—a beautiful wedding, a home in London, and her father had even walked her down the aisle and given her away to Dan.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up… I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t,” Dan replied quickly. He wasn’t sure why he was so insistent, why he wanted to be certain that this man didn’t think he’d upset him.

“I tend to… people say I make them uncomfortable.” He laughed awkwardly. “I probably shouldn’t admit that. Though, I figure, you’ll realize soon enough.”

Dan shook his head. “You can’t be worse than me. I’ve made a fool of myself in public more times than I can possibly count.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

Phil’s brow furrowed. “But you’re so…”

Dan titled his head. “What?”

“Smart. You seem very intellectual and well-spoken, I mean. And your hair is—”

Instinctually, Dan touched the curls on his head. “My hair?”

“It’s just, I mean, yes. It seems like… like the hair of a man who knows what he’s doing.” Phil’s eyes were wide. He looked like he’d just seen something terribly frightening. 

Dan grinned, leaning forward. He ruffled his curls and looked straight at Phil. He felt almost… playful. “My hair is an awful liar then. Because I’ve never had any idea what I was doing.”

The look of fear on Phil’s face melted and he pressed his tongue between his teeth and laughed. For some inexplicable reason, Dan found himself staring right there—right at the other man’s mouth.

Dan swallowed and looked away.

Phil stood from the table with his cup. “I should probably be going.” Phil walked to the other side of the table past Dan and sat his cup down near the basin sink.

“It’s still dark.”

“My place really isn’t too far. It’s just beyond your property. Besides, the sun will be up soon.”

Dan looked down at his mostly empty tea cup. “Right, of course. Thanks again. For Clara. I owe you.”

Phil walked back to Dan and patted his shoulder. Dan looked down at Phil’s hand. He had particularly nice knuckles—a strange thought but true nonetheless.

“You don’t owe me anything. We should all just take care of each other, shouldn’t we?” Phil’s hand slipped away. “And if you need any help getting settled, let me know. The first year I moved here, I had almost nothing to eat but radishes as they were the only thing I managed to grow.”

“I will. Thank you.” Dan stood and walked with Phil to the door. 

Phil was about to leave, when he tucked his chin down to his chest. “Again, sorry if I said anything strange or acted oddly… I know that I do that.”

“You were fine, Phil.” Dan smiled. “But, personally, I think the world could do with more odd.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Summer_

 

Dan had dirt under his nails. He had dirt caked onto his palms and in between his fingers. It was on the knees of his linen trousers and sprinkled across his white shirt. He had dirt everywhere. It was probably even streaked across his forehead from the amount of times he’d had to wipe away the sweat that was dripping down his brow.

It wasn’t like he was afraid of work or grime. He wasn’t. Dan had grown up poor, but he’d grown up poor in _London_. He’d grown up poor standing at the spinners, repairing breaks in the thread for three shillings a week. But he’d had it better than the other children, whose parents didn’t go hungry nearly as often to make certain their children could still attend school during the year. Regardless, it meant Dan had no experience with sowing seeds and reaping harvests. He had some books on the subject that he’d pored over since moving to Cold Ash and in the weeks before they moved, but they were still getting the majority of their food from the shop in town, which wasn’t sustainable. Not when he had no money coming in.

 _The town could use a lawyer,_ Dan’s thoughts supplied, but he pushed it away. He’d left London for a reason. He’d uprooted his family to this rural town, to this small cottage in the woods for a reason. Dan wanted to leave his old life behind—and all the familiar trappings of it that reminded him of a life unlived. He’d come here for a fresh start, and a fresh start looked like dirt under his nails, caked onto his palms and in between his fingers.

It looked like tiny green sprouts pushing their way through the soil.

The girls would help with the growing sometimes, and certainly Alice did more than her share, indoors and out. Clara and Mae mostly had fun sprinkling the beds with the water can or chasing off the sparrows that would try to pick at their strawberry plants. Dan was happy to see that at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves. His girls weren’t plagued with the anxieties that he was. Dan wanted to make life out here work. He _needed_ to make life out here work. The thought of going back to London—the noise, the crime, the smell of the factories, the people—the people with their illnesses that they could pass on to other people…

Dan wanted his girls out here, away from all of that.

Here, there was fresh air and sunshine and sweet apples for them to pluck off low hanging branches. For now, Dan had enough of his own money saved that he could put food on the table every week without having to turn back to the career he’d chosen to make sure his children never had to stand at the spinners and repair the broken threads. He didn’t like law—hated it if he were perfectly honest—but he’d go back to it, if he had to for his girls. He would do anything for those girls, he thought, as he watched Clara and Mae spinning barefoot in the

grass. He was glad they seemed to be free of worry. He was glad that, for now, he could carry all the worries of the world for them.

“Good afternoon,” came a familiar voice from through the trees.

“Mister Philip!” Clara shouted. She stopped her spinning and bolted toward Phil who was walking up the way.“Mister Philip! You’re here.”

“Well, hello, Miss Clara.” Phil bowed to her, then held out the wicker basket in his hands. “Would you like some black currants?”

“Yes!” Clara squeaked and grabbed the basket from Phil and rushed back towards Mae who was still spinning.

“Clara! Manners,” Dan chided.

She stopped and turned back around. “Thank you Mister Philip!”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a laugh. It seemed to echo somehow, that laugh, and Dan could hear it all around him, coming, he felt like, from every direction.

Dan stood from where he was knelt in the garden and dusted from dirt from his trousers. “Sorry about her,” he said to Phil.

Phil grinned. “It’s perfectly alright. That’s what I brought them for. And I brought this for you.” Phil held out a sealed jar full of dark purple liquid. “It’s black currant cider. It’s a little strong, but it’s good.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Phil’s voice started soft then brightened. “Being neighborly and all that.”

Dan smiled and reached out for the cider. As he took it, their thumbs brushed, and he was startled by the warmth he felt between his ribs, as if he’d already taken a sip of the spirits. Maybe he needed a sip of those spirits…

“How has your planting been?” Phil asked, putting a hand to his brow to shade his eyes from the sun.

“You were right.” Dan sighed, adjusting his straw hat. “Too many radishes.”

Phil dropped his hand and looked back at Dan. His face was bright, as if it drank up some of that sunlight and it was shining right back at Dan now. “They grow like weeds around here.”

“Do you think,” Dan asked, a little nervously, “that you might be up for the advice you’d offered? When we met?”

Phil had offered to help more than just when they met. They’d seen each other often since then, as they were neighbors, though usually not for very long. Phil would occasionally come by with bottles of fresh cream from his dairy cow, and he just as occasionally borrowed one of Alice’s books. Dan had gone to his a time or two for a cup of sugar, and given Phil sprigs of lavender so he could make tea.

Dan didn’t mind when Phil would come by, and the girls didn’t seem to mind either. He’d even take the time to play with the girls, to kneel down to see the world from their point of view and listen interestedly to their little stories. Dan found himself glad to see Phil here, Phil and his ginger hair that had taken on an even fuller color in the heat and light of summer.

“I’d be happy to, Dan,” Phil answered. “Can you tell me what you’ve done so far?”

So Dan showed him the garden beds he’d made with the girls. The rows for carrots and radishes, the aubergines, and the pickling cucumbers.

“Have you ever made a pickle?” Phil asked about the cucumbers.

Dan shook his head.

“Once they grow, I can show you how to properly can them so they’ll last through the winter, and I have some dill too that you can borrow, if you’d like.”

“Should I give it back to you when you’re done?”

Phil’s brow furrowed. “Give what back?”

“The dill I’m going to borrow.” Dan’s lips quirked up into a smile.

“Yes, I expect the return of every single seed.” Phil smiled back at him. Dan liked when Phil smiled back at him. There was nothing unusual about that was there?

Dan continued showing Phil the garden, and Phil offered advice on moving some of the herbs to brighter sunlight, moving the beets to an area with slightly more shade. He had many tips and Dan listened closely. Then, Phil asked to borrow a spade and he showed Dan how to carve out rudimentary irrigation for the garden.

“Are you still thinking of getting some hens?” Phil asked, dropping the spade. “I believe you’d mentioned it.”

“I am. I was trying to get a handle on the garden first which is proving to be more difficult than I’d anticipated.”

Phil laid a gentle hand on Dan’s upper arm. “You’re doing just fine. Better than I was when I first started, I can tell you that.”

Dan felt a heat in his cheeks that was more than the sun. “Thank you.”

Phil looked down and away, tucking a hand into the pocket of his trousers. “Well, before you get those hens, let me know. We’ll build them a coop to keep the foxes away.”

“It’s too much to ask—”

“It’s not. We’re neighbors, aren’t we? And besides, I’m going to need some help during calving season.”

“Yes, of— _calving_ season?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never birthed a calf?”

“Don’t tell me you _have_?”

Phil looked him up and down, like a playful challenge. “You really are a London man, aren’t you?”

“A London man who must draw the line somewhere.” Dan put a hand to his chest to emphasize the point.

Phil started bending down, his hand stretched out to where he’d left the black currant cider on the ground near the tip of the spade.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking this back.”

Dan snatched it up before Phil could and held it to his chest. “This was a gift. Legally, you cannot demand it back.”

“I’m not sure of the legalities but—”

“I am. I studied law at university.”

“Years of work all leading to this one moment.” Phil smiled at him. “Was it worth it?”

“Absolutely,” Dan said, brightly. “Though in fairness, maybe I should offer a concession?”

“I’m listening…”

“Have dinner with me and the girls tonight.”

Phil’s straightened up his shoulders, looking a little shocked. “I wouldn’t want to be an imposition.”

“And you won’t be,” Dan said softly, his chin tucked down towards his chest. He wasn’t sure why he sometimes found it hard looking at Phil, but he decided for his own peace of mind not to examine it. He had enough to worry about as it was.

For dinner that night, they had roast chicken and vegetables—carrots, fingerling potatoes, sweet yellow onion, and a few radishes Dan had been able to harvest from his garden. The rest came from the market near town. Dan had also poured he and Phil each a cup of the black current cider Phil had brought him. It tasted delicious, sweet with just the right amount of burn.

All five of them had sat around the table with the golden-brown chicken and the roasted vegetables between them. Phil knew just how to tell stories that had the girls giggling and coming up with their own additions to the imaginative words he was spinning. It was the most they’d laughed, Dan realized by the time they’d finished the meal, since Anna died.

He was unsure how he felt about that, but he didn’t have much time to consider it further. He imagined his worrying mind would force him to think about it later, though he hoped it would not.

“Daddy, you should play!” Clara shouted, rushing over towards the piano.

“I don’t know,” Dan said warily. He played a lot after Anna died. Playing piano was one of the few ways he was able to escape his thoughts back then, but it wasn’t something he often did in front of others.

“ _Please.”_ Mae begged. “Mister Philip needs to hear you play.” She turned and looked up at Phil.

“Mae,” Dan warned quietly, feeling himself blush.

“I’d love to your hear your father play, but I don’t think we should push him,” Phil said to Mae, then turned his head up, attention on Dan. “But I really would love to hear.”

There was something about the sincerity in Phil’s voice—the quiet warmth—that made him impossible to turn down.

Dan scooted back his kitchen chair and walked over to the piano. His scooted out the bench and took a deep breath as he sat down.

He poised his hands above the keys, feeling the cool ivory against the pads of each finger. A deep breath filled his chest with air, and he blew it back out to steady his rising nerves. He really didn’t play for others very often, certainly not others who were watching him with such rapt attention.

As he sat there, Dan considered what to play, and then it came to him. Fur Elise. It was the first song he’d ever played. He’d stolen a copy of the sheet music from a music store he would pass on his way home from his summer job at the factory. They had an old piano in their flat, left behind by the former tenant, who’d passed away, and that was how Dan had spent his free time—of which he’d had very little—struggling to tap out Beethoven’s notes.

So he played that song now—simple and soft—that song he’d known for so long, that had meant so much to him. Dan could feel it now, all the different things it had meant to him. The most important of which was how he had used it as a way to carve out an identity for himself, to define himself apart from the cog he’d been born to be in the factory machines.

When Dan finished, the girls clapped and the youngest two spun in their dresses, their skirts blossoming out like petals, and Phil—Phil was just smiling at him. This bright kind of smile that seemed to echo out through his whole body, like it was in his shoulders and his elbows. Dan was rather sure that if Phil were to slip out of his shoes that he could see that smile in his toes.

So what choice did Dan have, other than to smile back?

 

They spent the rest of that evening, playing more songs and singing a little off key. The girls eventually laid out on their tummies on the rug by the hearth and played pick-up sticks, while Dan and Phil had another glass of the black currant cider Phil had made. When it was dark—the room lit only by dripping candles and a few carefully placed oil lamps—Dan ushered the girls off to their bedroom.

“I should probably be going,” Phil said, his voice low, as Dan walked back out of the girls room to where Phil was standing.

Dan felt the drop of disappointment. He really had come to enjoy Phil’s company. “Oh, well, I guess it is late, and you have a bit of walk.”

“I think it might be about to rain as well. I could smell it earlier.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “You can smell the rain?”

“Accurately,” Phil said, then smiled. “About five out of ten times.”

Dan smiled. It was so easy to smile around Phil, and it hadn’t been easy for Dan to smile since Anna died. That realization made him feel unsteady, like trying to walk on ice. “I’ll… show you out?” Dan said. Phrased it as if it were a question. He’d guessed it was. He’d guessed _do you want me to show you out?_ was what he was actually wanting to say.

Phil nodded. “Yes.”

So Dan walked up to Phil, just at his side, and together they moved toward Dan’s front door. It was a short walk, but it felt even shorter than usual tonight, when Dan found himself, for some reason, not wanting to show Phil out, wanting him to… stay.

Dan opened the front door reluctantly. “Thank you for your help with the garden earlier.”

Phil nodded. “Thank you for the meal.”

There was the light sound of rain pattering on the ground.

“You were right,” Dan said. “I feel just awful you’ll have to walk back in this weather. You can stay. I’ll make you up a place to sleep. I have blankets.”

Phil put a hand on Dan’s shoulder—a warm hand, a steady hand.

“Thank you, but I really should be going.” Phil stepped out the front door, then looked back over his shoulder to give Dan a nod, his lips curled into a gentle smile.

 

Sunday morning, Dan was stood in the third pew back from the pulpit, Alice to one side, Clara and Mae to the other. He and Alice each had a hymnal in their hands, and his other two girls were fussing over the third, though neither of them could read the words. The cover, softened by age, felt smooth against his hands and it brought back long-ago memories. He’d gone with his grandmother to church as a child. It was a habit he’d fallen out of before he’d met Anna and had the girls. The girls had always gone to church. It had been a central part of their lives and of his wife’s, so after she’d passed Dan had felt compelled to continue.

So, here he stood, a widower with his children, singing out old words as the organ played and the congregation sang.

 _I hear the Savior say,_  
“Thy strength indeed is small;  
Child of weakness, watch and pray,  
Find in Me thine all in all.”

When the hymns were finished, they slipped their hymnals into the holder on the back of the pew.

The minister stepped up to the pulpit, his grey hair like a rain cloud floating above him. He cleared his throat and began to pray. When he was finished, he instructed them all to sit, and they did, though Dan had to lean over and chastise his youngest two for whispering. He felt somewhat guilty for it, as he had talked in church at the age. His grandmother had quieted him as well, so maybe it was just something you passed down, like a pocket watch.

The minister began his sermon, and Dan managed to hear his words as he started but, eventually, the dreary monotone of his voice left his thoughts drifting elsewhere. Alice had her mother’s Bible cradled on her lap in her pale-white skirts. Clara and Mae legs were swinging, like stockinged pendulums. Across the aisle, an old man was nodding off and his wife was nudging him with her elbow. In the clear cuttings of the stained glass, Dan could see outside to the leafy trees and the unusually blue sky. He thought of the dirt road that would be out that direction that would lead to his little cottage and just a little further beyond, to Phil’s. Maybe he’d walk down to Phil’s today, bring him some lavender to trade for eggs. Though it was the sabbath so he should probably wait until at least tomorrow to trade. Maybe he could go down there to simply invite Phil to dinner. Everyone had to eat, even on the Lord’s day.

He must’ve been noticeably drifting into his thoughts because he felt Alice knock her knee into his. Was he as bad as the old man across the aisle? Worse even, that his daughter had to be the one to remind him to be present here, not off in his thoughts, his thoughts of Phil.

Dan straightened his back and returned his full attention to the minister, whose words felt just a little different now, and Dan’s best guess was that he was quoting something.

“… you may be confident of your own strength,” the minster said, his voice a booming command. “and may think with yourself that you are not in danger, that there is no temptation in these things, but what you are able easily to overcome. But you should consider that the most self-confidant are the most in danger.”

Dan felt a very strong desire to return to looking back out that sliver of transparent glass to the trees and the sky and the dirt path that leads to Phil’s. But that spell seemed to be lost and another taken hold, so he was left listening to the minster carry on.

“They are the most safe who are most sensible of their own weakness; most distrustful of their own hearts.”

That was a strange sentiment to Dan. Anna had been his heart, and she had also been the only thing he’d ever trusted. Though maybe that was the point, he’d trusted in that love, built a foundation in it and he’d been able to do nothing but watch as disease consumed it like a rot.

When the sermon was over, they all stood from the pews and bustled back down the aisle. As the stepped outside the door, the minster was waiting there to greet the members of his congregation.

“Why, hello there, Daniel, girls,” the minster said. “Have you all been well?”

“Yes, very well,” Dan said. “I hope you’ve been as well.”

“The Lord has blessed me,” the minister said with a smile—a very different expression than the one glaring down at him from the pulpit. He looked over at the girls. “I don’t know if you’ve met some of the others your age, but they often fellowship together after the sermon. Consider introducing yourselves.”

“Yes, sir,” Alice said. “We will. Thank you.”

Clara and Mae started to toddle off so Alice followed them. Dan was about to do the same when the minster said, “It must be hard. Three girls all on your own.”

“It’s been very hard without my wife, sir. Yes.”

“A terrible loss, though, of course, we don’t mourn as the world mourns.” He cleared his throat. “Alas, young girls like that should not be without a mother.”

Dan felt himself tense, tuck his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers. “It’s a challenge, but—“

“There are many lovely, God-fearing ladies in this congregation.” The minister looked just beyond Dan’s shoulder and Dan followed his gaze. There was a pretty woman stood there near the steps of the church. She briefly looked at Dan with a smile, then glanced away. “Miss Thompson is one of them,” he whispered. “Her father hosts a prayer meeting at their home on Mondays. I’m sure you’d be more than welcome.”

Feeling deeply uncomfortable, Dan said the first thing he could think of to get the minister off this particular train of thought, “I’m grateful for the invitation, though I have dinner plans tomorrow evening.”

He didn’t actually have dinner plans tomorrow evening, but he wanted to have them. He hoped Phil would be available.

“Oh, with whom?”

“The man that lives not far from me, Philip Lester. Do you know him?”

The congenial smile the minister had worn throughout their conversation disappeared. “He doesn’t attend our church.”

That was strange, Dan figured, though he hadn’t thought much about it. He hadn’t ever seen Phil at church and this was the only church in Cold Ash. “I should invite him to join us.”

The minster stiffened even more, then let out a sigh. “You should exercise caution in any dealing with Mister Lester.”

“Caution?”

“I’d be especially wary about allowing him around your children. Children are very impressionable, and the devil uses such people, as you know.”

The devil? Using Phil? Dan was thoroughly perplexed.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean. He’s been nothing but kind and generous to us.”

The Minister pursed his lips. “Philip Lester is a deeply troubled man and he was tempted away from the Lord by…” the minster leaned in, lowering his voice even more. “…the perverted lusts of the flesh.” The minster’s voice returned to normal. “We tried, we really did, to return him to the family of Christ, but he was… unrepentant.”

Dan didn’t know what else to say, but he just wanted the conversation over. “Thank you, Minister, for the warning.”

“You and your family are in my prayers, and you should re-consider the prayer meeting.”

Dan nodded. “Yes, I will.” He walked down off the steps, trying his best to sort through what the minister had said and what it meant.

_Perverted lusts of the flesh._

“Are we ready to go, father?” Alice asked, wresting him from his thoughts.

“Yes, my dear,” Dan said, distantly as he glanced back at the minister. “Let’s gather your sisters and go.”

 

Back at their cottage, Dan could not settle himself down. He made lard and tomato sandwiches for the girls and himself for lunch—and they each had a few slices of apple. Still, he barely had any appetite at all and so picked at his food.

What had the Minister meant? Why had he seemed so adamant? And did it matter? If the Minister found Phil so distasteful, if Dan and the girls continued associating with him, would they be looked down upon in the same way? Dan wasn’t particularly concerned with fitting in. He’d never had in his life, but his girls. Oh, he wanted, needed, his girls to have more. Certainly, with their mother being gone.

And that made Dan consider the other thing the Minister had said. About the girls needing a mother and the pretty woman, Miss Thompson, who had looked at him so sweetly—and Dan had felt _nothing._ Not a single stir. But did that matter either? Clara and Mae were so young that they wouldn’t even remember their mother? Was it his responsibility to wed another woman and provide them that figure?

Dan stood from the table. He wished it wasn’t the Sabbath. Wished he could occupy his mind with some work. It wasn’t that he was usually so fundamental about his Sundays, but there was just something about today… it seemed necessary. Like the eyes of his little girls were on him, and he needed to show them the right way, which would be easier if he knew the right way.

 

A few hours later, there was a knock on the door and Dan answered it.

“Good evening, Dan!” Phil said, jovially. He was grinning that everywhere smile, a small lock of his ginger hair sweeping down over his forehead. He had a large watermelon cradled in his arms.

Dan blinked, ignoring the quickening beat in his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, oh nothing.” He adjusted the watermelon, an awkward tilt to his lips. “I’m sorry, if I’m bothering you. I just had this ripened melon and I thought that maybe, that maybe the girls and you—you too, of course—might like it.” He rocked back on the soles of his shoes.

Dan felt his body tighten, his mind had been troubled all afternoon by the words of the minister, now he felt almost distraught. _Perverted lusts of the flesh._ “We’ll be alright. I’ve been improving our yield. I have enough to feed my own daughters.” His tone was curt. He didn’t like the way it sounded directed at Phil.

Phil just softened. He looked apologetic. “That’s not… I didn’t mean. I’m sorry, Dan. I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t. I just knew you didn’t plant any melons, so I thought the girls might like—”

“Oh, hello, Mister Philip,” said Alice from behind Dan. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Phil smiled kindly at Alice. “Thanks for letting me borrow _Jane Eyre._ I’d never gotten around to reading it.”

“You’re welcome. Are you enjoying it?” she asked.

“So far. Yes, very much.”

“We’ll have to talk about it when you’re finished,” Alice stood up on her toes like she always did when she was excited. “I’m really dying to discuss it and father won’t read it.”

“Alice, have you finished the sweeping?” Dan asked her, his tone short and flat.

“No, Father,” she said, her brow knit together. “We don’t do sweeping on the Sabbath.”

Of course they didn’t. Dan had just tried to think of quick reason to get her moving along when he was feeling just so entirely uncomfortable.

“Right, well, go along and help your sisters with their prayers then,” he tried again, hoping his daughter would go along with it this time.

Alice gave Dan a strange look. They didn’t do evening prayers together on Sundays. They never had, but thankfully, she chose not to push it. “Good to see you, Mister Philip,” Alice said.

“You too, Alice,” Phil called back, then she walked off.

Dan looked back at Phil. He was still holding that melon, his expression still soft, his shoulders still broad, his chin still covered in a rugged stubble… “All right, well, sorry you troubled yourself coming all this way,” Dan said. His voice seemed high, was it higher than normal?

Phil frowned, shuffling back a little. “It’s no trouble…” He sounded so sad that Dan felt something inside himself just crumble.

“Have a safe walk back,” Dan said quickly because he knew he couldn’t bear to look at Phil another moment.

“Oh, yes w—“

Dan shut the door, then leaned back against, letting out a heavy sigh of… it wasn’t relief.He didn’t feel relieved. Dan didn’t know what it was.

“Where’s Mister Philip?” Alice asked, walking back out from her room.

“He couldn’t stay.” Dan tried to sound nonchalant but he wasn’t sure he managed.

“I wish he could have. I enjoy talking with him.”

Dan sighed. “I know you do, but—”

“He talks about books with me, like, well, like Mother did.”

“I can talk about books with you.”

Alice frowned. “You don’t like the same kind of books I like. Mister Philip likes all sorts of books.” There was a whine to her voice that reminded him of how young she actually was. It was easy to forget when she tried to hard to carry her responsibilities without complaint.

“Alice, you’re a young girl. You should be spending time with other young girls your age, like the minster said.”

“I like the other girls well enough, Father, but they don’t want to talk about books. They want to talk about boys or dresses.” Alice sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with boys or dresses, but—”

“You’d rather talk about books?”

“Yes, Father."

“Alright then, I’ll read your books.”

Alice took a few steps towards Dan and it made him feel cornered. “Why can’t I just talk to Mister Philip about books? He actually _wants_ to read them.”

Dan just shook his head. “Because he won’t be spending as much time here anymore.”

Alice’s face fell. “Why not? What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened.” Dan rubbed his face. He didn’t know how to explain this to his daughter when he couldn’t explain it to himself. Not entirely. “It’s simply that… we’ve started over here, Alice. We need to make this work. We need the community, the church, don’t we? You girls, you need that kind of structure.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with Mister Philip.”

“The Minister he’s told me… he’s informed me that Mister Philip may not be what he seems to be. It’s not something I can explain to you, dear, but it wouldn’t be good for us to be known to spend time with him. Can you trust me in this?”

“This is unfair.” Alice stamped her foot. There it was again, her age showing. “I like Mister Philip and you won’t even tell me why he’s so, so awful.”

Another sigh. Dan felt like all he had right now were sighs. “He’s not… it’s complicated, dear. It’s just for the best, and even when you don’t like it or understand it, it’s my responsibility to protect you, to raise you in the way I see fit. So much is asked of me and somedays I don’t know if I can live up to it.”

Alice’s eyes went wide and she looked up at him. “Father…”

He just closed his eyes. He hung his head. He couldn’t bear to look at anything beside the grain of the wood floor. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I’m sorry. Please, go on. Get ready for bed.”

Alice hesitated, like she had something else she wanted to say, but she just sighed too and walked off. Maybe it was contagious.

 

Dan had trouble sleeping that night. His sleep had been getting better. He’d chalked it up to the warm summer, but it was very nice out this tonight—only a few hours from sunrise now—and Dan still hadn’t managed to fall asleep.

He just wanted to know what the Minister meant. So much so that he’d briefly considered asking Phil directly, but that sent a rush of fear through him so abandoned the idea. Then, he imagined going back to the church and asking the Minister to be clearer about the sin Phil had committed, the one he was so unrepentant of…

_perverted lusts of the flesh_

That phrase settled heavy in Dan’s mind and he kept trying to stretch it through his thoughts, through what he knew of Phil to make sense of it. Phil couldn’t believe it was something as unforgivable as forcing a woman to—no, it couldn’t be. Besides, that was never taken as seriously as it should be and the woman, well, she was always blamed. This couldn’t be that. It had to be something else.

As Dan played back through many of their conversations, he remembered their very first conversation. Phil had mentioned being engaged, but that he’d been in love with someone else and called off the wedding because of it. He’d mentioned that he couldn’t marry the person he loved. Had she already been married? Was the sin Phil guilty of adultery? Coveting another man’s wife? Had he loved her so much, he wouldn’t call it a sin?

_since when do you care so much about sin?_

It was true that Dan had been anything but a saint. He knew vice as well as the next man and had a string of sins to answer for, so why was this different? Why was he so caught up in what Phil had done? Was it about the girls… _or is it about me?_

Dan remembered that conversation. The one he’d with Phil that night they’d met. He remembered this distinctly, as if he’d filed it away directly because he knew it would be important someday. Phil had not referred to the person he’d fallen in love with and couldn’t have as a woman. He’d said someone. Someone.

Was the person Phil had fallen in love with, had it been… a _man_?

_Do I want it to have been?_

This thought, so terrifying, so intrusive, had Dan flinging himself out of bed. It had him tossing on trousers and a shirt and sneaking out to the front porch. He needed fresh air. He needed… something. But what? But _what_?

 

Sometime after he’d gone out there, Dan couldn’t be sure how long, the front door opened and Alice walked out of it.

“What are you doing up?” Dan asked.

Alice sat beside him on the porch steps and looked ahead into the darkness. “I love listening to the night birds. It was too loud to hear in them in London.”

“It was.” Dan said. He looked over at Alice. Just like at church, she had a Bible placed on her skirt. “You have your mother’s Bible?” It was a statement that Dan spoke as a question.

“I do.”

“You’ve been reading it?”

Alice nodded and began to flip through the pages. “Did you know she wrote all over it? Her notes are everywhere. She’s underlined and circled. I’ve been reading it. Her notes and such. It’s like… I don’t know, Father, like hearing her echo.”

Dan looked over at his daughter. “Oh, Alice…” He put a hand on her shoulder, then dropped it away.

She straightened her posture and her voice grew serious. “Anyway, I think there’s a verse you should hear. In Micah. One that mother underlined. I’ve prayed on it and yes, yes I think so.”

Dan’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

Alice flipped through the pages, then stopped and looked down at the words. “What doth the Lord require of thee,” she said softly, “but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?”

At those words, coming from his daughter that sounded so much like his wife, it was like a weight lifted, like an anchor loosened from the sand in a harbor. Dan wanted so much to do right by his children, to protect them and lead them safely into their future, out of the dark valley they’d found themselves in. Dan wanted so desperately to do right by them that he hadn’t been paying attention. Not to the right things, the true things, the _kind_ things. Thank God, Alice had.

Dan tucked a loose curl back behind her ear. “You are so much like your mother.”

She smiled at him. “And as much like you.”

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “I love you,” Dan said gently.

“I love you too, Father.”

Dan pulled away from her and let out a heavy breath. He squared his shoulders back and stood. He started to walk down the steps.

“Where are you going?” Alice asked.

He turned around and smiled at his daughter.His wonderful, loving gift of a daughter. “To invite Mister Philip round to breakfast.”


End file.
